“Also, I can't remember if I've mentioned this previously, but I'm really rich.”
“That's much more like it,” she says, weakening greatly.
“I'm a multimillionaire, desperately in need of a woman to shower with gifts.”
She nods, feeling my pain. “And I'm a woman who believes in second chances,” she says.
I lean across the table and kiss her, and she responds. As Jackie Gleason would say, “How sweet it is.” Unfortunately, the moment is broken by a guy who comes over with a camera, unusual since Charlie's is not exactly a tourist trap. The guy has seen me on TV in connection with the Miller case, and he asks me to take a picture with him. Laurie agrees to take the picture, and the guy leaves happy. Ah, stardom.
We go back to Laurie's, but I don't think that I'll try anything sexual; it seems like that would be rushing things. Fortunately, Laurie disagrees, and she tries something very sexual. Not only does she try it, but it works. Really well.
It works so well that it leaves me exhausted, but even though we've agreed that I'm staying over, I can't go right to sleep, because Tara has to be walked. We go outside for what I hope will be a short walk, but which I extend because she's enjoying the smells of this new neighborhood so much.
I'm feeling good, make that great, about the turn of events with Laurie, and I sort of relive the day in my mind. It's when I'm thinking about our evening at Charlie's, about the guy wanting the picture, that it hits me, and I take Tara back to Laurie's at a full run.
We rush into the house and I head straight for the bedroom, where Laurie is sound asleep. I try to wake her, which is no easy task. When I exhaust a woman, I exhaust a woman.
I finally get her coherent enough to respond. “What the hell do you want?”
“Laurie, it's about the picture.”
I think the intense tone of my voice pulls her out of her sleep. “What picture?”
“My father's picture, the one of the four men.”
“What about it?” she asks.
“There's somebody not in it.”
“Who?”
“The person that took it,” I say.
I'M CARRYING A PAPER BAGAND waiting outside Vince Sanders's office when he arrives at nine-thirty in the morning. He had left a surprisingly warm message on my answering machine while I was away, congratulating and thanking me for my work in finding Denise's real killer.
“Oh, shit,” he says when he sees me. “What the hell are you doing here?” Obviously he doesn't retain warmth real well.
“I need your help,” I say.
“Forget it. I'm too busy.”
I hold up the bag. “I brought you a dozen, fish-free jelly donuts.”
He looks at the bag, then opens the door and motions me in. “Make my home your home.”
We enter and he proceeds to eat three donuts and drink two cups of coffee in about a minute and a half. The time is not completely unenlightening, however. He explains to me that the way to prevent jelly from dripping out of a donut is to bite into the hole on the side through which the jelly had been inserted. Brilliant, but not what I came here to learn.
Vince can tell that I'm anxious to get down to business, so he pauses midway through the fourth donut to ask me what I need.
“I want to go through copies of your newspaper for the week of June fourteenth, nineteen sixty-five. I assume you have it on microfilm.”
“Microfilm?” He laughs. “Nowadays that would be like having it on parchment. It's all computerized.”
I nod. “All the better.”
“What are you looking for?”
“The night Julie McGregor was killed, my father, Markham, Brownfield, and Mike Anthony were at some kind of future leaders conference in Manhattan. I want to know who else was there.”
He looks doubtful. “So what are you doing here? In case you forgot, this is a Jersey paper. We wouldn't have covered it.”
“I'm betting you did.”
Within five minutes, Vince and I are going through the old papers. He finds the article almost immediately, and instantly understands why I am sitting in his office.
“Jesus Christ,” he says.
I jump out of my chair and go over to his computer screen. The article is there, and the headline jumps out:
PHILIP GANT NAMED A FUTURE LEADER OF AMERICA
I can't say this is exactly what I expected, but it does give me an even healthier respect for my own hunches. The potential implications of this are stunning, and my mouth opens in amazement. It is the only mouth in the room that isn't filled with jelly donut.
Vince looks to me for confirmation. “Gant was a part of this?”
I shrug. “I can't be sure.”
“But you think he might be?” Vince is a reporter, and he's sensing a beauty of a story.
I nod. “I think he might be.”
Vince takes a final swallow; he wants to be able to clearly enunciate this point. “If he is, I get the story first. We clear on that?”
“Crystal,” I say.
I meet up with Laurie back at the office. She's been tracking this on her own, and I'm not surprised to hear that she's gotten even further than I have. Not only has she confirmed that Philip was there that night, but she has the entire list of that year's future leaders.
A quick check shows that it includes young men and women from all over the country, and that in fact Philip was the only one besides my father living in New Jersey. I know for a fact that my father's house did not have a swimming pool, so it may well be that Philip's house is the one at which Julie McGregor was killed. The question is how to prove it.
Laurie logically points out that a crime this old is not going to be solved by physical evidence, and requires a witness. Victor has steadfastly refused to implicate anyone else, and for that reason Brownfield is not in custody. But with Victor facing murder one for Denise's murder, he seems the one most likely to crack.
We make two decisions, not necessarily in order of importance. One, we're going to include Pete Stanton in our deliberations, and two, I'm going to spend tonight at Laurie's. Therefore, we pick Tara up, take her for a brief walk, and then bring her to the precinct with us. Maybe I can introduce her to a male from the K-9 squad.
Pete's not there when we arrive, but he shows up a few minutes later. He is of course surprised to see Laurie, myself, and especially Tara sitting there.
“What the hell is this? A family picnic?” He points to Tara. “Is he house-trained?”
“She,” I say. “Her name is Tara, and you would shit on the floor before she would.”
“Okay,” he shrugs, “what do you guys want?”
I proceed to tell him, and he listens to the story without interrupting. When I'm finished, he thinks for a few more moments before responding. “You know Gant well. You think he could be involved?”
“I think he's a pretentious, controlling asshole, but I've never thought of him as a murderer.”
“That wasn't my question.”
I nod. “I think he was there that night. I think he'd do anything to protect his position. Yes, I think he was involved.”
Pete cuts right to the meat. “You're going to need Markham to give him up.”
“Do you think he would?” Laurie asks.
Pete shrugs. “Hasn't so far.”
“Can you get me in there?” I ask.
Pete laughs. “He'd be real happy to see you. You guys are good buddies.”
“Just get me in.”
Pete nods. “Okay. But only with Wallace on board. You want me to talk to him?”
I tell Pete that I'll talk to Wallace, and I call him. He's more skeptical than Pete, perhaps because he's not feeling the force of my face-to-face charm. Wallace's boss has to get elected every two years, which makes him sensitive to life's political realities. He sounds sorry he even answered the phone.