“They even did it to my son, Paix,” she said. “I was raising him alone. I enrolled him in a good preschool, but when we showed up for the first day, suddenly there were no openings.”
“Maybe there were no openings, Celeste,” I said. “Look at Emily’s career. How can you say anyone interfered with her success.”
“Success? Inoculating illegal immigrants is hardly the path she had in mind. She and Jaime were going to spearhead health reform throughout the Third World. But there wasn’t an international health organization that would touch them. Or a federally funded American research institution that would hire her. Look at Jaime. What sort of practice does he have?”
“He seems happy.”
“Then you should look again. And while you’re at it, look at your own career.
“You’re nuts,” I said. I was just a kid during all that. It had nothing to do with me.”
“Do you remember an offer for a Capitol correspondent job that evaporated as soon as you resigned from your old anchor position? Where was that? Atlanta?”
“But surely…”
“And then a long dry spell, no job offers came, did they? Some of your husband’s clients drifted away, too. And where did you end up? PBS. Was that the goal you had in mind?”
“Sounds so paranoid. Why would anyone bother with me?”
“To get at Emily.”
“Why?” I demanded.
“To pay old debts,” she said. “It’s still happening, Maggie. I told you my son is graduating in June. Ask him about what happens after job interviews.”
“You’re saying they are the FBI?”
I wish it were, because then I would know how to fight back. I only know that this has been a very personal vendetta from the beginning. Whoever it is has access to the single most powerful tool that exists in our political system.”
“What?”
“Information. Information for blackmail.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Celeste is full of shit,” Garth said. “This nonsense she fed you about spooks in her woodpile is just a new form of terrorism for her. Did Emily ever say anything about harassment to you? Or did Max or Jaime? Anyone you ever worked with just drop a few hints that they were being warned off? I’m old enough to remember the days of the blacklist. It didn’t operate in secret. It couldn’t. You know what gossips people in our industry are.”
“Maybe.” I leaned against the door frame and looked back into the darkness of Emily’s apartment. What Celeste said had really shaken me, especially when she brought me into this Grand Plot she described. I had other, valid, explanations for what had happened in my own life.
The Washington correspondent job offer came, and vanished, the year I turned thirty. Scotty was still drinking heavily then and our life together was falling apart. Maybe I didn’t look stable enough, young enough, sexy enough, girl-next-door enough to the new network management that came aboard just after the contracts were signed. In the end, the network bought out my contract. I got a lot of money and felt very little grief.
I have been in television most of my working life. I think I understand, by now, the way it operates. Crow’s feet seems to me to be more likely grounds for dismissal of on-camera staff than blackmail does. But still… Celeste had done a fair job of planting her own seeds.
“Have you ever used the Freedom of Information Act to search for FBI files on yourself?” I asked.
“No. If there are files on me, I don’t give a shit what they say. Would you think I was less cute if you found out I was a Commie mole?”
“Gee, Garth,” I said. “You just couldn’t be more cute than you already are.”
“Well, that’s true. Forget what Celeste said. Anyway, if anyone, FBI, XYZ, LSMFT, came to you and tried to warn you off a co-worker, using some frigging old files, what would you do first?”
“Call a news conference.”
“I rest my case.” He leaned over me and peered into the apartment. “You going to invite me in, or are you going to make me drive all the way home tonight?”
“I’ll make hotel reservations for you,” I said. “Garth, I’m rotten company.”
“I might disagree with that.” He kissed me on the forehead and buttoned up his overcoat. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Thanks for everything. You’re a good cheerleader.”
“That’s my curse.” He had set a good size carton of news videos he had compiled just inside the door. He nudged the carton with the toe of his patent pump. “Let me know if you find anything interesting on those.”
“I will. Good night.” For something to do with my hands, I was fingering the scraps of junk in my coat pockets as I watched him walk away. I pulled out a BART ticket that still had five cents on it, and a gum wrapper. Garth turned at the stairs and started back.
“Maggie, this is nuts. You shouldn’t be here alone. I don’t believe Celeste for a minute, but something rough is going on. At least come home with me.”
“I’m fine. There are big locks on the doors and Mrs. Lim is on the lookout downstairs. I’m fine,” I insisted. “Drive carefully.”
“I’ll call you,” he said again and, after some hesitation, went away.
I waited in the open door until I heard him going downstairs. I had by then found in my pocket a ticket stub for The Return of the Jedi, reminding me how old the coat was, some used Kleenex, and a small wad of white paper.
As I went inside and closed the door I was trying to open the wad. It looked as if it had been wet when it was rolled up. Then I remembered the tract that a transient had handed me on the street in front of Lee’s Bakery the night before. I was about to toss it into the bathroom trashcan, when I saw that it wasn’t a commercially printed sheet. It was handwritten. And it was handwritten on one of Emily’s prescription forms.
“I am Caesar,” the man had said when he handed the paper to me. “Here is the message and the truth.”
The ink was a little smeared, but “the message and the truth” was clear enough to read: “Maggot, Sorry I couldn’t wait for you. Max is at the Bonaventure. Meet us there. ASAP. Em.”
There was nothing essentially new in the message. The puzzle was, how did Emily get it into the hands of Caesar, and from his to mine? And when had she written it?
Obviously, all the answers rested with Caesar. I pulled the apartment door closed after me and ran down the stairs and out onto the street. At some point I thought I should have taken time to change into more practical clothes, but I planned only to go down Hill Street as far as Lee’s Bakery, where I had seen Caesar before. If I didn’t find him, someone might know where he was. I thought I would be out five, maybe ten minutes at the most.
It was almost eleven and all the choice covered doorways were filled with overnight guests. I stopped at the first recumbent figure.
“Excuse me,” I said. “May I have a word with you?”
“Hey man.” A fuzzy head appeared out of a tangle of bedding. “I’m tryin’ to sleep here, man.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m looking for a man named Caesar. Do you know him? He has a dog.”
“I don’ want no dog, man. I just want to sleep. Don’ you shout at me no mo’.”
“Sorry,” I said again, and walked on. I found an apparently conscious man sitting upright in his blankets in the recessed entry of the Quong Fook Tong Benevolent Association.
“Excuse me,” I said, already tired of the routine. “I’m looking for a man named Caesar. He has a dog with him.”
“Who do you want? The man or the dog?”
“The man.”
“You can have me, you sweet thing. And you didn’t have to get all dressed up.”
“Do you know Caesar?”
“Sure.” He started to rise. “He’s cooping in this alley back here. Let me show you.”
I could see the mouth of the alley, and there was no way was going in there, alone or escorted by a platoon of marines, much less with this character.