(1976) The R Document (31 page)

‘Here, have a cigarette,’ said Radenbaugh, offering him his open pack.

Collins plucked a cigarette from the pack, then laid it on a table. ‘I’d better have some coffee first.’

He pushed himself out of the chair, made his way to the living room, took up the breakfast tray Karen had left, and returned with it to the study. He poured the lukewarm coffee for Radenbaugh and himself. Drinking from his cup, Collins settled into the captain’s chair once more and gave his attention to the screen.

A television newscaster, behind a half-moon desk, had picked up a sheet of paper just placed before him.

‘And another late development,’ he announced. ‘Chief Justice John G. Maynard’s arrival in Los Angeles the day before yesterday was unexpected. Neither members of his staff in Washington nor his colleagues on the High Bench could explain this sudden unscheduled trip. But now we do have a little clarification. Immediately after his arrival in Los Angeles, he and his wife took off for their winter residence in Palm Springs. The morning after reaching his residence, Chief Justice Maynard contacted an old friend in Sacramento, James Guffey, speaker of the State Assembly, and stated that he would like to fly up to the capital the next day - that would have been this afternoon - and appear before

the Judiciary Committee of the Assembly. He said that he wanted to discuss the 35th Amendment with the members before it was put to a vote on the Assembly floor. Speaker Guffey was very pleased, and advised the Chief Justice that he would be called as the committee’s last and most important witness. Guffey said this morning that he had no idea what Maynard was going to say about the Amendment, that Maynard had not mentioned if he was going to come out for it or against it. Guffey added that during the course of his telephone conversation with Maynard, he had chided the Chief Justice for going to Palm Springs out of season. “What are you doing there?” Guffey had asked him. Maynard had replied, “I need some place where I can have some peace and think. I had intended to write my statement here. But I’ve decided just to spend the day mulling it over, and tomorrow I’ll speak to your committee extemporaneously. I have a good idea of what I want to say.” Now death has stilled the Chief Justice’s voice, and we shall never know what he intended to say in this all-important matter of the crucial 35th Amendment vote in California. It was also learned that before proceeding to Sacramento, the Chief Justice had intended to hold a news conference at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. Had he lived, that conference would be taking place a few hours from now. I’ve just been alerted that the press secretary to the President of the United States is about to read a statement from President Wadsworth relating to the violent and untimely death of the Chief Justice. We now take you to your White House correspondent in Washington, D.C___’

Collins turned away from the television set. He looked at Radenbaugh. ‘I guess it’s our funeral, too, Donald.’

Radenbaugh nodded tiredly.

Collins heaved a sigh. The initial shock was over, and he felt only an overwhelming depression. ‘You know, I can’t think of anything worse that’s happened in my lifetime.’ He gestured toward the screen. ‘Now it’s their country.’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Radenbaugh.

They both fell silent, concentrating on the television screen.

The White House press secretary was finishing his reading of President Wadsworth’s eulogy and condolences. Collins’ attention slackened.

The President’s statement contained the usual lofty, banal, sometimes insincere remarks: When a great man dies, part of humanity dies with him. Make no mistake about John G. Maynard’s greatness. He now joins the pantheon of immortals who sought to bring a full measure of justice to this land. There stand Marshall, Brandeis, Holmes, Warren, and beside them, as tall, stands John G. Maynard. Now, truly, he belongs to the ages.

And along with Maynard, democracy, too, will belong to the ages, thought Collins. Dead. A relic of the past. Without Maynard, the wave of the future was the 35th Amendment - and Vernon T. Tynan - and the nation would be cast in his mold.

No sooner had he thought of Tynan than he heard Tynan’s name announced by the network’s White House correspondent.

‘… Vernon T. Tynan. We now take you to the office of the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.’

Instantly, Tynan’s familiar small head and broad shoulders appeared on the screen. His seamy face was properly set in a look of grief and mourning. He began to read from a sheet of paper in his hand:

‘This brutal and senseless slaying of one of the nation’s outstanding humanitarians has been a loss that cannot be expressed in mere words. Chief Justice Maynard was the nation’s friend, my personal friend, a friend of truth and liberty. His loss has wounded America, but because of him America will become strong enough to survive and will survive all crime, all lawlessness, all violence. I am sure if Chief Justice Maynard were alive, he would want us to view this tragedy in a larger sense. This systematic decimation of our leaders and our citizenry must be brought to a stop, so that Americans can walk their streets and sleep in their beds in the full knowledge that they are safe and free.’

Tynan looked up into the camera, seeming to meet Collins’ eye as Collins’ glare met his.

Tynan cleared his throat. He resumed speaking.

‘Fortunately. Chief Justice Maynard’s vicious slaver did

not escape. He has met his own violent end. I have just been informed that this killer has been fully identified. His identity will be announced shortly by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Suffice it to say, for now, the killer was a former convict, a man with a long arrest record, yet he was allowed to be free and roam our streets under the ambiguous and loose provisions of the Bill of Rights. Had the Bill of Rights been amended a month ago, this terrible murder might have been averted. While the 35th Amendment would never be put into effect except in the case of conspiracy and rebellion, its passage alone would engender a positive atmosphere that would relegate slayings like these to the past. Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve learned a lesson today, this day of grief. Let us work together, hand and hand, to make America secure and to keep America strong.’

Tynan’s face had left the screen, to be replaced by that of a reporter in the network’s Washington newsroom.

Ignoring the television set, Collins yanked his chair toward Radenbaugh. He was furious. ‘That bastard Tynan, how dare he? Did you hear him? Making hay for his goddam amendment before Maynard’s body is even cold.’

‘And twisting it around so that it sounds as if Maynard would actually have welcomed the 35th,’ said Radenbaugh. He pointed to the screen. ‘Look, I think they’re going to identify the killer.’

‘What difference now?’ said Collins. Nevertheless, he returned his attention to the television screen.

‘Yes, we have it,’ the newsman was saying, ‘the identity of the person who murdered Chief Justice Maynard. It has just been confirmed and released. The killer has been definitely identified as one Ramon Escobar, thirty-two years old, an American citizen of Cuban extraction, a resident of Miami, Florida. Here are photographs of him from the files of the FBI….’

Immediately, both a full-face and a profile shot of Ramon Escobar were flashed on the screen. The pictures revealed a swarthy, ugly young man with curly black hair, long sideburns, sunken cheeks, and the livid slash of a scar on his jawbone.

‘Oh, no!’ Radenbaugh gasped. “No…!’

Startled, Collins whirled toward him, in time to see Radenbaugh stagger to his feet. Radenbaugh’s eyes were wide, his features drained of blood, as he kept poking a finger toward the screen, trying to mouth something.

Confused, Collins came quickly to his feet in an attempt to calm his companion. The jutting finger Radenbaugh had been poking toward the screen had become part of a fist. Radenbaugh was shaking his fist at the screen.

The quavering words finally came bursting forth. ‘That’s him, Chris!’ Radenbaugh shouted. ‘That’s him! That’s the one!’

Collins grabbed Radenbaugh. ‘Donald, get hold of yourself - what is it?’

‘Look at him there, the man who killed Maynard! He’s the one I saw. Did you hear his name? Ramon Escobar. I heard it -I heard it on Fisher’s Island, outside Miami, that night. The face - it’s the same face, exactly, I recognize it -the man on Fisher’s Island - the one Vernon Tynan had me pass the $750,000 to - the same one, the one who took the three-quarters of a million from me. Chris, for God’s sake, do you know what this means?’

Ramon Escobar’s face had disappeared from the screen, to be replaced once more by that of the network newsman. Hastily, Collins crossed the study and shut off the television set. He turned around, shaken, remembering Radenbaugh’s story of his release from Lewisburg, of his recovering his million dollars from the Everglades, of his taking three-quarters of a million in a motorboat to Fisher’s Island to deliver it to the two men Tynan had designated to receive it.

Now Maynard’s murderer had proved to be one of those two.

‘Believe me, it’s the same man, Chris,’ Radenbaugh was saying. ‘It means Tynan wanted my money to get rid of Maynard. It means that he had me sprung from prison to get his hands on enough money to pay a professional assassin, money that couldn’t be traced, foolproof. Tynan engineered the murder. He was ready to go to any length to prevent

Maynard from killing the 35th, even to the length of killing Maynard himself.’

‘Stop it,’ Collins said sharply. ‘You can’t prove it.’

‘My God, man, what more proof do you need? I was there with Tynan when he made me the offer. He got me out of jail, got me a new identity, sent me to Miami and to Fisher’s Island, had me turn over three-quarters of a million to - to whom? To the very man who assassinated Chief Justice Maynard last night. What more proof do you need?’

Collins was trying to think, to sort it all out. ‘I don’t need more proof, Donald,’ he said. ‘I believe you. But what would anyone else believe?’

‘I can go to the police. I can tell them what happened. I can tell them I gave this killer the money on Tynan’s behalf.’

Collins shook his head. ‘It won’t work.’

“Why won’t it work? Harry Adcock knows the truth. Warden Jenkins knows the truth -‘

‘They won’t talk.’

Radenbaugh had Collins by the lapels of his coat. ‘Chris, listen. The police will believe me. I’m me. I was there on the island. We can get rid of Tynan. I can tell the whole truth.’

Collins removed the hands from his coat. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Donald Radenbaugh could tell the truth. But Donald Radenbaugh doesn’t exist - the witness doesn’t exist -‘

‘But I’m here!’

‘Sorry. Dorian Schiller is here. Donald Radenbaugh is dead. There isn’t a shred of evidence he’s alive. He just doesn’t exist’

Radenbaugh suddenly sagged. He finally understood. He looked at Collins helplessly. ‘I guess you’re right.’

As if transformed, infused with a new resolve, Collins came alive.

‘But I exist,’ he said. ‘I’m going directly to the President. Hearsay or not, I believe all you’ve told me, all I’ve learned for myself, and I’m going to lay it all out for the President. There’s simply too much to be ignored. He’s got to hear the facts - that the real lawlessnes and crimes in this country are being committed by Vernon T. Tynan. There’s no way the President can avoid facing the truth. Once he

knows, he’ll do what Chief Justice Maynard meant to do -

speak out to the public, disown Tynan, denounce the 35th

Amendment - and have it voted down once and for all. Pull

yourself together, Donald. Our bad dream is almost over.’

The President of the United States sat up straight in the black leather swivel chair behind the Buchanan desk in the Oval Office of the White House.

‘Remove him?’ he repeated with a slight rise in the inflection in his voice. ‘You want me to fire the Director of

the FBI?’

They had been seated here in the Oval Office - President Wadsworth behind his desk, Chris Collins in the black wooden pull-up chair beside the desk - for twenty minutes, talking. Or rather, Collins had been talking, and the President had been listening.

When Collins had applied for the appointment this morning, the President’s calendar had been full. Collins had invoked ‘emergency’, and the President had agreed to give him a half hour after lunch, at two o’clock.

From the moment that he had entered the Oval Office, Collins had ignored the amenities, had planted himself down across from the President and then plunged into his impassioned account. ‘I think you should know certain things that are going on behind your back, Mr President, horrendous things,’ Collins had begun, ‘and since no one else will speak to you of them, I think I’ll have to be the one to do so. It won’t be easy, but here goes.’

Then, almost in a monologue, Collins had recited the details from the

time of Colonel Baxter’s warning about The R Document to Donald Radenbaugh’s identification of Chief Justice Maynard’s slayer. He had spilled it out nonstop, with a trial lawyer’s clarity, omitting no detail.

He had concluded, ‘There can be no justification on earth for breaking the law to preserve the law. The Director has been the main mover in this. Based on the evidence I’ve just presented to you, Mr President, I think you have no choice but to remove him.’

‘Remove him?’ the President repeated. ‘You want me to fire the Director of the FBI?’

Yes, Mr President. You’ve got to get rid of Vernon T. Tynan. If not to punish him for his criminal actions, then to restore your leadership and safeguard the democratic process. While it will cost you the 35th Amendment, it will preserve the Constitution. And we can work out a better plan to guarantee law and order in this country, one based not on repression and potential tyranny, but on the improvement of the social and economic structure of our society. However, nothing is possible until Tynan goes.’

The President had remained remarkably unruffled throughout Collins’ recital. Except for smoothing his graying hair, rubbing his aquiline nose, cupping a hand over his receding jaw, he had listened quietly and without any display of emotion.